


The Writing on the Wall

by theadventuresof



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Sad Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadventuresof/pseuds/theadventuresof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Writing on the Wall

 

“You’re divine,” L whispers on his skin, knowing full well the double meaning behind the words, and Light shudders, incoherent, tilting his head back against the curve of the loveseat. L always leaves him breathless, compromised; it should infuriate him, but L is—different. L has always been different.

Light arches outwards when he climaxes; L curls in on himself and hides his face. “Just this once,” Light moans, as always, when he feels himself approaching orgasm, “Show me your real face.” But the answer is always the same and L always ducks his head, muffles his desperate whimpers against the pillows and the bend of his arm, as if he can’t stand to share one honest moment with all pretenses gone.

“Not—not this time,” L breathes with difficulty. Light has left bruises on his collar and he’s certain that L has left bruises on him as well, but now is not the time to deliberate on those, because he’s—

Light comes and it’s like fireworks; L’s mouth is on his and his hair is hanging damp and black in Light’s eyes and his eye sockets are deep and blue and his lips are cherry red—Light gives him one last kiss as he collapses in the chair and now L’s fists are clenched in his hair and his face is twisted and he spasms, bowing his head to Light’s chest so that his bangs obstruct his eyes.

 _Damn it,_ Light thinks hazily, but it’s nothing to do with Kira at all. He just—wanted to see. 

* * *

 

L hums under his breath throughout their psychology lecture, and Light wishes he could be annoyed with him. They’re walking to get coffee afterwards and Light finally asks him what song it was he was humming, and to his surprise L stops on the sidewalk, turns around, and sings very softly, though there’s a rare power behind his voice. It’s not a language Light knows, but the tune is oddly familiar, and not just because he’s been listening to it for the past hour and a half.

There was always something oddly familiar about L, wasn’t there.

* * *

 

Sometimes L flinches when Light touches him. “Keep going,” he always says. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

So they keep kissing as if nothing is wrong and for a while nothing is. It is dark and there is a stray spoon under L’s pillow, but the metal is familiar after months with the handcuffs.

He has an unwitting fragility about him that Light can’t exactly place, something that’s beyond the painted black eyes and the hollow cheeks and the white sweater draped pathetically over his thin frame. Some nights his skin is like glass. 

* * *

 

“I’ve seen a lot of awful things,” L says unexpectedly one night. He’s facing the wall, playing with a strand his hair, and Light is dozing off on his side of the bed.

“What?” says Light, before he quite wakes up.

“I think—” L says, and as he turns to look at him his face is full of creases. “I think that just dawned on me. Every awful thing, all at once.”

* * *

 

Light loves when L says his name. It feels honest, even when it’s part of the game. They’re curled up together, Light dazed and post-coital, L trembling on the verge of climax, and both of them know this is the last time.

“Light,” L whispers. “Light, Light, Light…” and his voice dissolves into a frantic sigh; he watches L tilt his head to kiss him and suddenly he’s not hiding his face at all and he’s _beautiful,_ his eyes wide and glassy and his hair is wild like black feathers.

They fall down together and it feels even more final than before because Light is Kira again and L will be dead by this time tomorrow.

The next time Light looks at L’s eyes, they are wet.

“Are you—?” he starts to ask. _All right?_ Of course he isn’t. He’s a dead man walking and Light has won. _Crying?_ It could just be the reflection from the window. “What are you—?” he tries again, once L’s eyes have closed.

L smiles weakly, reaching into the bottom of the drawer at his bedside and pulling out a single unlit cigarette and a box of matches.

“I am preparing to die,” he says behind the first blossom of smoke.

**Author's Note:**

> L is humming Коробейники/Korobeiniki, a Russian folk song which Light would have recognized for its more widely-known use as the melody for the tetris theme.


End file.
